


Christmas Through the Ages

by saiansha



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, It's Loki/Reader but not in the way you're expecting, Lokitty, Love, Other, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiansha/pseuds/saiansha
Summary: You were five when you got the first present. You were seventeen when you first met him.A Christmas story of love enduring through the years. Two-shot. (Edited and reuploaded on 28th Dec, 18)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Omg, an update from me that's not an update to JMPWD? Surprise, here's a two-shot in the Christmas spirit. If you think there are some sketchy vibes in this story, trust me, there are not. It will be explained in the second chapter, though there are clues in here that you might be able to pick up on.
> 
> Read this story on [ Tumblr! ](http://saiansha.tumblr.com/post/181176713997/fic-christmas-through-a-childs-eyes)

I was five when I got the first present. It was a red convertible – a toy, of course. It was the best car ever. It never broke, no matter how I badly it crashed or how hard I drove it into the walls. It never even dented. The paint remained as bright and shiny as ever.

The best part, though, was that I had not even asked Santa for a gift that year.

“It must be your aunt,” My mother idly remarked. Maybe it was. But, it was more fun to believe it wasn’t.

I was six when I asked for a puppy.

There was no puppy under the tree that year. 

There was, however, a cat. It wasn’t too bad, I guess. It was daintily curled up right under the tree, nose buried in its lush tail. It had luxurious black fur and the most sparkling green eyes that I’d ever seen in my six years of existence. It was small and sleek and I loved it.

Well, until I accidentally stepped on its tail.

It yowled and hissed and stood up on its hind legs, claws drawn, canines bared. It stood like that for an impossibly long time, almost hovering over me as I crouched and wailed. Suddenly, it retracted its claws and ran out of the house. I ran after it, crying for it. By the time I got my bearings and opened the door, it was too late. The snow had already covered the paw marks and the cat was nowhere to be seen.

“Good riddance, honestly,” My mother said. “There’s no saying how violent these wild creatures can get.”

I pouted and sulked all throughout the Christmas dinner that year.

I was less ambitious the next few years. When I was seven, I wanted a gaming laptop. When I was eight, I asked for a telescope. When I was nine, I begged Santa for a slambook. I got them all. My mother gave up trying to convince me Santa wasn’t real.

I was ten when I got a sandcastle set. I wanted to build a snow fort. I also wanted to build a sandcastle, since we were going to be spending the New Year in the Caribbean. My mother and I spent Christmas night having snow fort fights. At midnight on January the first, we lit up candles on the rooftops of our fort.

When I was eleven, I didn’t get anything.

I cried and screamed and threw a tantrum. I refused to decorate the tree, help out with the dinner or be in a festive mood, generally. The next day, my mother took us to the orphanage and made me donate all my presents, from Santa and otherwise, from the previous years. I cried and screamed some more, even kicked and flayed, but my mother held me firmly and glared at me.

“If you cannot be grateful for what you already have, then you don’t deserve anything more.”

I refused to wish her a happy new year.

Things went back to normal when I was twelve and thirteen. I got exactly what I wanted: books and my favourite band’s pop-up posters. Each time, my mother made me choose one gift to donate. I sulked but didn’t throw a tantrum.

“You need to understand the value of charity and generosity,” She said. Lofty words for a tween or newbie teen, but important all the same.

When I was fourteen, my body was filled with hormones and my head with vivid daydreams. Jolly fat Santa could no longer be my benefactor. I fantasised that there was a handsome, mysterious stranger who has been waiting all my life to find me and love me. All these presents all these years have been his attempts to woo me. Once I finally grow up, he would confess his love for me and we would live happily ever after.

I kept it simple that year. I asked for a diary, and a diary I got. It didn’t take much time for it to be filled up with my stories and daydreams. The tradition of donating a gift continued this year and would continue for the years to come.

I was fifteen when I asked for a puppy again. Maybe this time my mysterious lover would get it right.

He did. I woke up to find a little golden retriever nosing his way around the Christmas tree. I had already chosen a gift to donate when my mother came over.

“What are your top three favourite gifts this year, besides the puppy, obviously?”

I thought about it and told her.

“Why do you like them?”

I thought about it some more, then told her that as well.

“If you want to keep the puppy, then these are what I’d like you to donate those this year. I want you to remember what you gave up before you shirk off responsibility for your dog.”

I was angry, but not for long. As the puppy whimpered and nestled closer to me and I took in his smell, I was happy to give up whatever it took.

I was sixteen when I asked for a boyfriend. It was too much to ask for and I scored one gift less that year.

I was desperate by the time I hit seventeen. Desperate for my mysterious stranger to show up and pull me into a dance. Or, if not that, desperate for a boyfriend. But mostly, desperate for my lurking prince. I had spent three years dreaming and daydreaming. I could bear no more the thought of never getting to know him and tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to hold him and be held by him. I wanted to feel his smile on my lips. I wanted to have him caress my hair. I wanted to see love in his eyes.

Johnny – I named him after Johnny Bravo because both dog and cartoon were blonds and _such_ divas – ran out into the snow that Christmas. I don’t know what possessed the dog. It was below freezing point and while I didn’t mind the cold, I knew it would be a problem for him.

I loved the cold. I could lie on a slab of ice for an hour wearing just a sweater and tee and jeans and I’d still have all my toes and fingers intact. It made for some fun games of chicken and truth and dare. I could make snowmen without gloves and savour the feeling of fresh snow falling straight on my head, unobstructed by a cap. Others craved the snow but hated the cold. I loved both. I felt at peace in the winter and all the cold, ironically, made me feel warmer on the inside.

“Johnny!” I cried, panting from the exertion of treading snow.

It was beginning to worry me. He always answered to his name. What if he had got lost? Or broken his foot? What if he had slipped into the water? 

“Johnny!” I screamed, panting even more as the tears began to flow and freeze almost immediately.

“He is alright,” A voice cut through the wind almost as if it was right next to me.

I whirled around in panic. A tall man, dressed in a black suit and black overcoat was slowly walking towards me. I got the feeling that his gait was slow not because he was having difficulty walking through the snow, but because he wanted to make an impression. He was still a few feet away, but I could make out his features. He was pale, almost as pale as the snow. His hair was dark as the night and slicked back. His jaw, nose and cheekbones looked as if they were sculpted from marble. With his all-black getup, save for the green scarf and gloves with patterns of gold thread; his almost menacing walk; and the contrast of the paleness of his skin against the night and the sharpness of his face against the softness of the snow, he looked like an angel of death.

An angel of death carrying a blond bundle of fur named Johnny in his arms.

“Johnny!” I exclaimed and ran forward towards the stranger, almost falling on my face in my eagerness.

Johnny leapt from the man’s arms on to me and I fell on the ground with a thud, wincing at the impact but not caring. Once I was done smothering him in kisses and he covering me in licks, I moved him off me.

“Thank you,” I said, awkwardly, as I stood up and brushed the snow off my clothes. Now that the euphoria of reconnecting with Johnny had passed, I was desperate to go back home. I didn’t want to go home without thanking the man properly and seeming rude, but he made me nervous. It wasn’t just the weather and the time of the evening or the idea that we were alone and nobody would be able to see us that scared me. There was something else about him that I couldn’t put a finger on. He fascinated me, but he also unsettled me.

He nodded his head slowly in acknowledgement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about him. But, thanks, again.”

“He got trapped under a few branches. He looks unhurt, but you should check him for injuries all the same.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear.

Johnny, tiring of the cold already, leapt into my arms again. I grunted and buried my nose in his fur.

“Oh, you poor thing. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

“You ought to take better care of your presents,” The man said, a tad sternly.

“What?”

“You heard me, child.”

“How-how do you know he was a present? And, don’t call me ‘child,’” I added waspishly. “I’m seventeen.”

“You are a child to me,” He said nonchalantly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not!” I insisted. With every passing second, I liked less and less where this was going.

“Then, you should take better care of your presents. Especially if they have been gifted to you by me.”

“Gifted to me by you? What are you talking about?” I snapped, looking around myself wildly, trying to see which way I could escape. 

“Why so angry, little one?” He asked. This time, his voice was teasing. “Are you still holding a grudge about not receiving a present when you were eleven? Or for not getting a present last year? I did not see anyway I could materialise a significant other.” 

“What? How?” Was all I could manage to splutter.

“I am sorry about your eleventh Christmas. I was… elsewhere that year,” He said contritely. “But, you did learn something from your mother, did you not?”

“Who are you?” I whispered, my fingers digging into Johnny. He whined and I loosened my hold.

“Take a guess,” He chuckled.

“No. No. Tell me, please!” I pleaded not ready to deal with the idea that I might be wrong, that I was losing my mind, that any moment now, it was all going to overturn and leave me feeling as cold on the inside as it was outside. 

“I am here to fulfill your wish for this year,” He spread open his arms. “Surprise!”

“You-you are him!” I gasped, finally letting myself voice it. “The mysterious stranger!”

“’Mysterious stranger?’” He chuckled. And just like that, I felt afraid of him no more. How could I, when he had been looking out for me all these years? “Why, that is very… debonair.”

“Who are you?” I begged. “What’s your name?”

He smiled mischievously as if he were going to make me jump through a hoop or two before telling me the answer. Then, he smiled indulgently, as if he decided to allow me this liberty just this once. Finally, he smiled warmly, as if he were happy to let me run with this game whenever I wanted to. I traced the shift in his expressions hungrily. I had always thought my mysterious stranger would have a mask that would hide his emotions. But, in reality, his face was so expressive. And yet, I felt that it was precisely this expressiveness that made him all the more mysterious.

“I am Loki. Merry Christmas, my sweet.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read this story on [ Tumblr ](http://saiansha.tumblr.com/post/181354520372/christmas-through-the-ages-ch-2).

“So, you’re the Norse God of Mischief?”

“Well, I would say he was based off me. But, I suppose, yes. I am he.”

“Wow,” I said, unable to come up with anything else. After a pause I added, “Wow.”

I dug into my triple chocolate sundae like there was no tomorrow, while he daintily picked at his matcha ice cream.

“Did you really try taking over Earth a hundred years ago?”

“Yes.”

I studied him. He said it so coolly, with neither pride nor shame. Matter-of-fact.

“But, you failed?”

“Obviously.”

Again, very cool. Neither angry nor reproachful.

“Why did you do it?”

That was when he looked at me. His eyes were alight with mischief, but there was something else there as well.

“I had my reasons, _lítil stúlka_. Now, is it not time you head back home? You have homework to do.”

He had already got up by the time he had finished the sentence. His ice cream had disappeared and he looked as immaculate as ever. I giggled at the idea of the matcha being around his mouth.

“What is that cheeky giggle for? Finish your sweet before it melts completely. You have already let it devolve into that puddle of stickiness.”

I finished the sundae on our walk back to my home. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished the cup and cleaned my mouth.

I laughed. “That’s one way to recycle.”

He smiled and took my hand. “I enjoyed our afternoon.”

“But, we’re still quite a way away from the house!” I protested. “And I want you to come for dinner! I’m sure mother would love to see who’s been sending me all these presents all these years! I bet she wouldn’t dare to make me donate another one of them if she knows they come from you!”

He smiled widely. “I would if I could, dear. But, I have to go.”

“Oh, come on!” I groaned. “What is time to an immortal like you?”

He laughed – a happier, more open laugh than I expected him to be capable of. “What an original line.”

“Please come!” I whined.

“Contrary to what you believe, my sweet, I have other things to do than be your Santa. Agreeing to this little excursion was my way of making up for last Christmas.”

I pouted. “Well, then, you still have to make up for my eleventh one.”

He chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

For my eighteenth Christmas, I asked him to come to dinner. He did.

Except that it was a dinner for just the two of us, one week before Christmas, in my favourite restaurant.

“You know that’s not what I meant when I asked for dinner,” I grumbled.

“Oh? What did you mean, _elsku stúlkan mín_?” He asked, innocently.

“Why don’t you come to dinner to our house?”

“You should have worded your wish more exactly if that is what you wanted.”

I rolled my eyes.

For my nineteenth Christmas, I wanted to get my due on the dinner. But, by the time the season actually rolled around, I had discarded that wish. I wanted to spend more time with him and a dinner was not time enough. So, I wished to learn Old Norse.

He looked exasperated with me. “Your wishes are growing more vexing by the year.”

I made puppy dog eyes at him. “Please? Please please please with a cherry on top?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I will teach you. We will have a lesson once a week. I am allowed to change the date and time of when we will meet, because I am a god and I have better things to do than tutor a mortal. But, if you miss any lesson and if these lessons interfere with your studies at your university, our deal is off.”

I had showed no hesitation whatsoever. I made a diligent student and he an exacting but fair teacher. He encouraged me when I made mistakes in new concepts, but he also didn’t shy away from making a snide remark – or ten – if I messed up on something that he had covered in a previous lesson. He gave me more homework than all my teachers in school combined, but I didn’t complain. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I couldn’t afford to.

“Cat?” He asked one night, testing me on my vocabulary.

I scrunched my eyes. “ _Köttur_ and _kisa_!”

“Good.” He got ready to ask me the next word before he saw my expression. “What is it?”

“I just had a thought…”

He said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

“That cat that I wished for – oh, I don’t know, was it my seventh birthday? No, wait! I’d wished for a puppy!”

He sighed. “It was your sixth.”

“Aha! So, it was you who sent the cat!”

He sighed again. “I _was_ the cat.”

“ _WHAT?_ ”

“Yes, well, I thought you would be happier with a cat. I certainly did not wish to transform myself into a dog, of all things. Flea-ridden things.”

“So you transformed yourself into a cat?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished for one,” He said, irritated.

“Yeah, but you could’ve just bought it or created one!”

There was a very long silence. He looked away from me and I thought he was going to answer as enigmatically as always, if at all. He shifted and I thought he was getting ready to leave, but I was wrong.

“I wished to spend more time with you,” He said, so softly, so gently as I’d never heard him before. To my horror, his eyes were gleaming – not with mischief, but with tears. Those beautiful, stormy pools of blue-green were glistening with sadness. He looked vulnerable and yet so closed off, a paradox that only he could pull off. It was as if he wanted to invite me to share his grief, but at the same time felt as if I would never understand it, or him.

“Then, why didn’t you?” I asked, just as softly.

He didn’t reply. He bowed his head, unwilling to let me see his expression anymore. I slid my hand closer to his on the bed.

“Why do you never come to our house? I don’t care if anyone doesn’t like it. I want you there. I will have you there,” I consoled.

My fingers brushed against his now, coaxing, probing. “You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

I could feel him stiffen, but I couldn’t stop. My hand closed around his, as cool as mine. That was another thing I liked about him – everyone’s hands were always too warm, but his felt nice. The coolness of our touches was yet another thing we had in common, yet another way we were connected.

“You don’t have to be alone, Loki. I am there for you. I will always be there for you,” I whispered.

His hand clenched the bedsheet and his head sharply shot up to meet my gaze again. The tears were gone. Instead, a strange wildness danced in his eyes.

“Our time is over. The lesson is up. Have a good night.”

And just like that, he was gone and I was left as alone as ever."

He didn’t come the next week, but he came the week after that. We slipped back into our normal routine, except that he was more clipped and in less of a jesting mood than before. Both praise and criticism were perfunctory. His face was a mask that I dared not try to breach. It was at times like these that I remembered he wasn’t just my mysterious stranger; he was a god. He had been alive a thousand years before I was born and would be for a few thousand after. We didn’t talk outside the context of my lessons. I tried to tell myself it was fine, gods were irascible and unpredictable. But, he had been the most predictable thing in my life and I could not bear to go without more of it. The more I got of him, the more I wanted. I wanted him to be there with me throughout. I wanted him to talk to me. I wanted him to love me.

Still, I tried to not bank on him loving me back, as harsh as that sounded. I met a boy and we had a fling. I poured all my heart into finding the one true love and all I got was more pain, more rejection, more loneliness. He left me, leaving me full of more insecurities than ever before. On my twentieth Christmas, Loki walked into my apartment for find me crying.

Oh, my sweet,” He muttered and sat beside me.

Tears blurred my vision and grief clouded my mind. "Did you know?"

He took my hand and placed it on his cheek. “I do. I watch over you.”

“Then why didn't you stop me?

“Because you have to make your own mistakes, little one." He pulled me closer and crushed my body into his embrace. He stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. He gently rocked my body as he whispered sweet words to me.

My sobs worsened.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why did he leave me?”

He sighed. “I know not, my sweet. I know not. The only thing I am sure of is that he did not deserve you. Tell me what I can do for you. I still have to make up for your eleventh Christmas, after all.”

I pulled away, my eyes searching his. It was now or never. "All I want for Christmas," I said, quoting that classic song, "is you."

“I am yours,” He said, in a tone even more tender and sweeter than the one I’d heard all those weeks ago. “But, not in the way you want, my sweet.”

My heart lurched painfully and it felt as if I’d been tossed down an abyss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” He said, still in that same voice. Yet, as much as I reveled in it, I wanted to claw that softness out of him. “But, not like _this_.”

I clutched the hands on my shoulders. “I have loved you since I was little. I _love_ you, Loki,” I said, as if emphasising the word would drive home what I felt for him.

He removed his hands entirely off my person. “And, I you, my darling, but I cannot give you what you want.”

“Why not?” I cried, painfully pushing past the lump in my throat. Do I not deserve you?”

His body slumped. “My darling…”

“Tell me!” I begged as a fresh wave of tears overtook me. “Please! What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” He whispered vehemently. “You did nothing wrong. Not a whit.”

“Then why?” I cried piteously.

He closed his eyes, as if summoning patience. When he opened them, my breath caught at the world-crushing sorrow in his gaze. “You are my child. You are of my line.”

“What?”

“Yes,” He whispered, his voice just as heavy as his eyes. “You are of my blood.”

I remembered then that he was the God of Lies. “You’re lying.”

“Look at me,” He said firmly and adjusted my head so that I had no choice but to do as he said. “Do I look like I am lying?”

“No,” I whispered, unwillingly, but honestly.

“Over a century ago, a few years after I tried to conquer your world, I met and fell in love with one of its inhabitants. I loved her and cherished her like I had loved and cherished no other. She gifted me her love and she gifted me a daughter. Our daughter gifted us her child.”

My head began swimming.

“Her child gifted you your mother,” He continued.

My fingers dug into his arm.

“And your mother gifted you to… the world.”

Another sob escaped me. “You’re lying…”

“Am I? You know I am a Jötunn, yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“You did your research after you first met me. You must know, then, about my affinity towards ice and the cold.”

I nodded.

“Have you never wondered why you have a tolerance against the cold? Why your skin is always so cool to the touch? Why you hardly ever fall sick and how you have always been a little stronger than every woman and most of the men you know? Do you not remember that night when you first met me when you were looking for Johnny? You were hardly wearing anything appropriate for the weather, yet you were more concerned for the dog being cold than you.”

I shuddered, still unable to wrap my mind around it. “Is that why you never came to our house?”

He exhaled. “Your mother did not approve. She is not fond of the fact that she is descended from me.”

“Why not?”

“I do not know. Perhaps she disapproved of my actions when I was a less honourable man. Perhaps she did not like that she does not have only human blood in her. Perhaps both. I was lucky enough as it is that she allowed me to send you those presents, so I never questioned her. She had more right to decide what was right for you then I did.”

“Why did you never tell me? Did she tell you not to?”

“She never said it in as many words, but I inferred and I was happy to fulfill her wishes. But, more than that, I did not want to relive the pain.”

“What pain?”

“The pain of loving a child, seeing them grow and seeing them die before you,” He said. This time, the tears did fall out of his eyes.

“Loki…” I whispered and brought my thumb up to wipe the tears that were now streaming freely.

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, before letting it go back to his cheek. “I watched the love of my life die, then I watched our daughter die. I watched her son die and I will watch your mother die. And, one day, you will too as well, and I will feel over and over again just how cruel time is to both gods and humans.”

“Then, why do you do it? Why do you just not leave?”

“I love what was ours and what was our children’s too much to let it go, but it hurts to let myself love you as fully and deeply as I want to. You too will die and I will have lost a child all over again. This is the only compromise I can strike. I can bring you presents. I can watch over you. I can love you from afar. I can admire the one good thing that I have ever been able to do.”

Another sob passed my lips.

A short laugh escaped his lips. "I can turn into a cat for you to try to be a part of your life. But, I do not feel I am suited to the temperament of being a pet."

A half-laugh, half-sob left me.

“My child, it was never you who was lacking,” He said, gently. “Yet, I only wished that you would learn to love yourself the way I loved you. I have watched you grow into a beautiful, strong woman and nothing would comfort me more than seeing you realise that for yourself. You are not inadequate. You are worthy of loving and being loved. I am sorry to have been the cause of so much pain and insecurity."

I dived back into his embrace and this time, we both cried and consoled each other for the love that we had lost and suffered for. I know not how long we stayed like this. It could’ve been minutes, or hours. Once I’d calmed down somewhat, I lifted my head to look at him.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for everything."

"Anything for you, darling."

I licked my lips. "I want to make my wish."

"Of course."

I squeezed my eyes shut, finding the courage to say the words. "I want you to stop coming to visit me. You are right. I need to learn to love myself. And, while I cannot ever be grateful enough for how you have looked out for me and loved me over the years, I need to start living my own life. I need to stop defining myself by you. I need to stop looking forward to a single day of the year and start celebrating every single day."

He looked pained, as I'd expected. But then, with the wisdom, experience and perspective that I could only hope to have one day, he said, "Of course, darling. Of course."

Time went by, as it always did. I lived my life, I finished my studies and I did my work. I made friends, I travelled to places, I made memories. And, I never celebrated Christmas again nor saw Loki again. But, I knew he was always watching and I could feel his presence guiding me when things got rough. I learned to love myself. I found happiness, both within and without. I met a man who loved me as wildly as I loved him and we had a son. My happiness was complete.

On my son’s fourth Christmas, a familiar and not-so-mysterious-anymore stranger appeared.

“May I have the honour of granting one of your son’s wishes every Christmas?” He asked solemnly.

“Only if you come and join us for Christmas dinner.”

His eyes shone with surprise and gratefulness. “Are you sure, my dear?”

“Yes, Loki. Please, I want you to be a part of our lives. If you would have us, that is. I don't want you to feel pained or at a loss. I want you to be happy, too.”

Instead of an answer, he pulled me into a fierce hug. When we went inside and my son came up to him, asking who he was, he crouched down to his level and said as he had to me when I was seventeen:

“I am Loki. Merry Christmas, my sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the sketchily translated Icelandic. Let me know what you thought and if you liked it or not. Constructive criticism is welcome =) Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


End file.
